Finally, he moved away. And in accordance with Storm’s wishes, he didn’t take to the air again. He walked.
The captain watched him go. Part of him sympathized with the mutant’s point of view. However, another part of him remained stubbornly opposed to Archangel’s thoughtless behavior.
And yet another part, he realized, simply didn’t like the man. He couldn’t deny it. Sometimes, a person just rubbed one the wrong way—and Archangel was such a person.
Storm turned to Picard. “You were harsh on him,” she noted.
He took a breath, then let it out. “Perhaps.”
“If you understood Warren a little better …” she began.
“I understand him all too well,” the captain told her—again, more dispassionately than he would have liked.
“I do not think so,” the woman persisted. “You believe he flies about your vessel because he hates confinement. And that is true—he hates it with a passion. But that is not the reason he flies.”
Picard pulled down on the front of his uniform. “Then why does he fly? Why does he go around startling my crew at every opportunity?”
“What he’s doing,” Storm explained, “is pushing the envelope.”
The captain turned to her. “Pushing … ?”
“The envelope,” she repeated. “Trying to see how far he can go.”
“I’m familiar with the phrase,” Picard told her. “What I’m having trouble with is the application.”
Storm frowned. “You have to understand something about the world we come from, Captain. As long as any of us can remember, we have been hunted and feared by so-called ‘normal’ human beings. Being accepted for what we are … it has always been a dream to us, a goal we could hold up but never realistically hope to attain.”
“So I’ve been apprised,” said the captain.
“Yet in your reality,” she continued, “prejudice and race-hatred seem to have been eliminated. Had we not seen it with our own eyes, we would never have believed it. And yet, here it is.”
Storm’s voice trembled ever so slightly. Her eyes took on a surprisingly liquid cast, as if they looked upon something precious and holy.
“We wield powers your people have never heard of. In our world, we would have been cast out for that—purged mercilessly from society. But no one here has tried to purge us. On the contrary—they have done everything in their power to embrace us.”
Picard nodded. “I see,” he said softly.
The mutant heaved a sigh. “I hope so. I hope you comprehend the wonder of a society that judges each being on his or her merits. More than your technological advances, more than the great distances you have traveled in search of knowledge … this is the true miracle of your Federation, Captain. This is your greatest achievement.”
She fell silent then, overcome with emotion, and the captain didn’t dare break that silence. He waited until Storm herself decided to go on.
“What does this have to do with Warren?” she asked. She smiled wistfully. “Deep down, my friend, he does not trust this world of yours—its generosity or its willingness to accept him for what he is. And, insofar as you are a symbol of your world, he does not trust you.”
Picard tried to follow her. “He wants to see if there is a limit to my acceptance of him.”
Storm nodded. “That is correct. Like a child deprived of his parents at an early age, it is difficult for him to feel loved by anyone. So he probes. He tests. He attempts to prove to himself, over and over again, that a place like this can be real.”
The captain regarded her. “What would you have me do, Ororo? Ignore his behavior? Allow him to run roughshod over my crew?”
She shook her head, her silver tresses glinting in the overhead illumination. “I only ask you to feel what Warren is feeling. See the situation with his eyes. Then do as you see fit.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Picard was about to tell her that when a voice came to him over the intercom.
“Captain,” said Riker, “I have a Priority One communication for you. It’s Admiral Kashiwada at Starbase 88.”
Picard wondered if this was a response to Geordi’s request for additional information. If so, it was a quick one.
“I’ll be right up,” he told Riker.
“Aye, sir,” said the first officer.
The captain looked at Storm. “I would like to continue this conversation after I speak with the admiral.”
“It would be my pleasure,” she told him.
Reluctantly, Picard tore himself away from the woman and went to see to Kashiwada’s call.
Chapter Fifteen
ENTERING HIS READY room, Captain Picard sat down behind his desk and faced his monitor. Then he activated it.
Immediately, Admiral Kashiwada’s wizened features filled the screen. The man seemed a tad less serene than usual—even though he had already been relieved of the X-Men’s company.
“Admiral,” said Picard. “Am I to understand you’ve already sent the information Commander La Forge requested?”
Kashiwada waved the subject away. “Not yet,” he said. “As it happens, there’s a matter of considerably greater urgency at hand.”
No niceties this time, the captain noted. And the communication was Priority One. Clearly, something was afoot.
“You’re familiar with a world called Xhaldia in the Antiacus system?” asked the admiral.
“Certainly. A Federation ally, though not a member.”
“That’s the one,” the admiral confirmed. “Its government sent out a distress call recently. It seems there’s a rather volatile situation on the planet’s surface. They’ve attempted to deal with it themselves, but it’s too much for them to handle with their meager planetary security forces.”
Kashiwada went on to tell the captain about it. The man hadn’t lied; it was volatile, all right.
“And you would like the Enterprise to respond?” Picard asked.
“You’re the one nearest Antiacus at the moment, Jean-Luc—less than a day’s travel at warp nine.” The admiral shrugged. “It’s only a matter of luck you’re that close; normally, there aren’t any starships in light years of your position.”
The captain leaned back in his chair. “We will attend to it.”
Kashiwada smiled. “Best of luck, Jean-Luc. I trust I will see you again soon.” And with that, his image vanished from the monitor.
Picard sighed. Apparently, the planning session at Starbase 42 would have to wait a while. And so would any attempt to return the X-Men to their own frame of reference.
He looked up at the intercom grid hidden in the ceiling. “This is the captain, Number One. We have a new destination.”
There was silence for a moment. “A new destination, sir?”
“That’s correct,” said Picard. “Have Lt. Rager set a course for Xhaldia in the Antiacus system. Warp nine.”
The Enterprise seldom traveled at speeds higher than warp five. However, this was an emergency.
“Aye, sir,” Riker replied.
The captain turned from his monitor and sought a view of the stars through one of his observation ports. Before long, he saw them wheeling about, as his officer implemented the course change.
“Computer,” he said, “tell me about Xhaldia.”
* * *
Sovar felt his mouth go dry.
This can’t be, the security officer told himself. I must have heard the captain incorrectly.
Using his tactical controls, he established a link with Lt. Rager’s control panel. Instantly, one of his screens showed him a chart of the sector where the Antiacus system was located.
Just as Captain Picard had requested, Rager was setting a course for the planet Xhaldia. And she was accelerating to warp nine.
When scientists discovered that high-warp travel wore out the barrier between space and subspace, Starfleet had prohibited anything faster than warp five. Except, Sovar added silently, in emergencies.
Dire emergencies.
/>
And now the Enterprise was headed for Xhaldia at warp nine! The lieutenant clenched his teeth and wanted to know why.
Suddenly, he realized Commander Riker was coming around the command center. The first officer stopped beside Sovar.
“Xhaldia’s your homeworld,” he said.
The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, sir. It is.”
Riker frowned. “If I can tell you what’s going on, I will,” he said.
Sovar looked at him. “Thank you, sir.”
The first officer clapped him on the shoulder. Then he returned to his seat in the command center.
The security officer sighed. At warp nine, it wouldn’t take them long to reach Xhaldia. A day, at most. For the moment, he would have to embrace that small consolation …
And hope the emergency drawing the Enterprise there wasn’t as dire as it might have seemed.
* * *
Chancellor Amon considered the image of his security minister on his monitor. “I think you made the right decision,” he said.
Tollit frowned. “Albeit reluctantly. I truly believed we would be able to find and recapture the transformed—in Verdeen, at least, if nowhere else.”
“But they have proven elusive,” Amon noted, “difficult to pin down. And on those occasions when you have managed to corner one, it has been an unhappy experience for your guardsmen.”
The minister nodded. “As you say, it was the right decision to bring in Starfleet. I only hope they will be gentle with the transformed. After all, they are still children, powerful as—”
Suddenly, Tollit’s image disappeared—to be replaced with the corpulent visage of Morna, Xhaldia’s minister of global communications. Morna looked as worried as the chancellor had ever seen him.
What now? Amon asked himself. What else can go wrong?
“We have a problem,” said the communications minister, dabbing perspiration from his forehead with a pocket cloth.
The chancellor leaned forward again. “A problem of what nature?”
Morna scowled. “I believe we are under attack.”
Amon looked at the man, dumbfounded. “Attack?” he echoed. “But why would anyone attack Xhaldia?”
In the twenty-eight years since the chancellor’s people had ventured into space, Xhaldia had never had anything but friendly relations with its neighbors—and for good reason. The planet wasn’t strategically important to anyone, and none of its resources were in great demand. The Xhaldians had never even built a defense fleet, relying instead on their world’s natural defenses and their alignment with the Federation to keep trouble-makers at bay.
“I don’t know why,” said Morna. “But a little while ago—ten minutes, perhaps—our sensor net picked up the approach of a large, unidentified vessel, previously concealed from us by the moon. We hailed them, in accordance with regulations. At first, there was no response.”
The minister dabbed at his forehead again. He was doing his best to remain calm, but it wasn’t working very well.
“And then?” Amon prodded.
“Then they responded after all—by destroying one of our booster satellites.”
The chancellor was aghast. Because of the naturally occurring energy fields permeating Xhaldia’s atmosphere, his people had constructed a series of satellites to facilitate communications with entities in space. Without those satellites, they would be cut off from the Federation and anyone else capable of speaking with them.
In short, they would be alone.
“Song of the ancients!” Morna breathed. He was looking wide-eyed at one of his monitors.
“What is it?” asked Amon.
The minister turned to him again. “They’ve destroyed two more satellites. That leaves only one.”
The chancellor bit his lip. One thing was clear—they would have to get off another message to the Federation before the last of the satellites was destroyed. They would have to let their friends know that the situation had become more urgent.
“Send out another distress call,” he told Morna. “Tell the Federation that we are under attack from alien invaders. Do it now!”
The minister did as he was told, sweat pouring down both sides of his face. Like Amon, he was hoping desperately that his efforts were in time.
Suddenly, Morna’s mouth fell open.
“What is it?” Amon demanded.
The minister swallowed hard. “They’ve destroyed the last satellite,” he reported miserably.
“What about the message?” the chancellor asked. “Did it get through?”
Morna looked at him. “I … I don’t think so.”
Amon swallowed back his fear. “Send out a message planetside, Morna. Whatever our enemy has in mind, we’ve got to mobilize against it.”
The minister nodded. “As you say, Chancellor. Only …”
“What is it, Morna?”
The heavyset man looked at him helplessly. “What do they want from us?” he wondered.
Amon shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
With that, Morna cut off the communication.
The chancellor slumped forward on his desk, burying his face in his hands. What did they want indeed?
Then he reminded himself that he didn’t have the luxury of sitting there and groaning. He had a great deal to do. He had to call a conference of his ministers and map out a plan of action … see to his world’s defense.
If he could stave off the enemy for just a while—a few days, at least—it might be enough time for Starfleet to respond to their first distress call. Certainly, it was a goal worth aiming for.
Amon grunted softly at the way things had turned out. A few minutes earlier, he had believed the escape of the transformed was the worst problem he would face that day. Now he knew how wrong he had been.
And then it struck him—the unlikeliness of it all. First, the discovery of the transformed. Then, the appearance of an alien ship. There had to be a connection between the two.
But what was it? he asked himself … knowing he hadn’t even the semblance of an answer.
Chapter Sixteen
ERID WAS AT home, eating dinner with his parents. They were glad and grateful to have been reunited with their younger son, though their faces still showed the pain of not knowing where he was or what had happened to him.
“It must have been terrible,” said his mother.
Erid looked down at his plate of spiced tubers. “Words don’t begin to do it justice,” he told her.
“The fortress …” said his father. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. And that wasn’t the worst of it, was it?”
Erid shook his head. “I felt like a freak. And I was always afraid of what I carried inside me.”
“The power,” said his mother.
“Yes. Even after I learned to control it, I was scared that it would come out when I didn’t want it to and hurt someone.”
“Someone innocent,” his father suggested.
Erid nodded. “Someone innocent.”
“And you say you looked … different?” his mother asked. There was concern in her eyes—concern for him.
“Very different,” he told her. “My hair was all gone. And my blood vessels had become big and swollen, and the flesh around them had turned purple.” He managed a smile. “I can tell you, I wasn’t pleasant to look at.”
Both his mother and his father were silent for a moment. It couldn’t have been easy for them to hear what Erid was saying. No parent wanted his or her child to experience such horror.
“But it’s over now,” his father said at last. “You’re normal again. And you’re home with us.”
Erid’s mother put her hand on top of his. “You don’t have to worry about any of those awful things anymore.”
He nodded. “I know. As time goes on, it’s beginning to seem more and more like a bad dream. And—”
Suddenly, he felt a heaviness in his arms and legs—a heaviness he remembered all too well. His mouth went dry with fear.
&n
bsp; No, he thought. This can’t be happening. It’s supposed to be over.
Still, the heaviness didn’t go away. It got worse. And as he looked on, terrified, his veins began to grow under his skin.
“What is it?” asked his mother. “What’s the matter?”
Erid got to his feet, tipping the dinner table over, smashing the dishes on the floor. His father took hold of his arm.
“What’s happening?” he wanted to know.
But Erid couldn’t tell him. His mouth was too full of panic to make words come out. All he could do was watch as his blood vessels became high, hard ridges and the skin turned purple around them.
Except for the vessels in his hands. Those remained strangely, hideously normal. A glow began to come from his fingers.
Erid knew what came next. “Run!” he told his parents. “Get away from me!”
“No!” his mother insisted. “You need us!”
“You can’t stay with me!” he tried to explain. “Not when I’m like this! You’ll die!”
Erid’s father shook his head. “We’re your parents! We can’t just leave you like this!”
Suddenly, a brilliant beam of energy shot out from one of his fingertips and struck his mother in the shoulder. She cried out in agony and fell spinning to the floor, where her blood began to pool around her.
Erid wanted to reach out to her, to help her, but he couldn’t—because more of the bright, blazing beams were springing into existence. More and more and more …
“No!” he screamed.
… and realized he wasn’t in his parents’ house anymore. He was somewhere else. In a bed somewhere. And someone was embracing him, looking needfully into his eyes.
Corba, he thought. I’m with Corba. The beams … my hurting my mother … it was just a nightmare.
But something was wrong in the real world, too—he could see it in Corba’s expression. She seemed frightened by something, and Erid knew she didn’t frighten easily.
“What is it?” he asked, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep.
She pointed to the window. “Look.”
Erid pulled away his covers and made his way to the window. It was still dark out, but as he got closer, he could see a flash of light. It blinded him for a moment.
Star Trek The Next Generation: Planet X Page 11